Live and Let Love (16 page)

He shook his head. She was so sentimental. She probably just wanted to keep a small
piece of him. Whatever her reasons, he couldn’t leave the brush behind. It had his
DNA in the form of hair follicles on it.

He took it. He’d have to clean it up, lace it with hairs from someone else, break
back in later, before he left, and replace it. And hope Willow didn’t notice it was
missing in the meantime.

On the very bottom of the box, he found a flattened cardboard coffee cup sleeve from
Starbucks. For a minute, he frowned.

What the hell is this doing here?

He set it down, shrugged, and hurriedly put everything back the way it was. As he
kneeled to shove the box beneath the bed, he noticed the coffee sleeve on the floor.

Shit, he’d missed one item. He hurriedly opened the box and shoved the sleeve in beneath
the flag and the report and the dog collar.

Finally, he shoved the box beneath the bed.

Willow hadn’t forgotten or erased him. She’d just shoved him beneath the bed.

He ran his fingers through his hair once more. Enough soul-searching and reminiscing.
He still had the basement to bug. “Come on, girl.” He stood.

Spookie followed him to the kitchen. If Willow wanted his DNA, he’d give it to her.
Well, he’d give her someone’s DNA.

He grinned to himself as he walked to a cupboard next to the sink and found where
she kept the drinking glasses. The top shelf was filled with her best ones. He removed
one from the back, where she wouldn’t notice.

He knew his wife. She’d use the special occasion glasses when he came to dinner. Then,
if the way she was eyeing his coffee cup was any indication, she’d pack his water
glass away to send off to a DNA testing lab. He was going to make good and sure someone
else’s DNA was on that glass.

Not that it really mattered. The Agency would make sure Willow got a false report
anyway. But Jack believed in dual redundancy and leaving nothing to chance.

He pocketed the glass and walked to the door to that led to the candy shop in the
daylight basement.

“Sorry, my little spook dog. This is where we part company.” He reached down, scratched
her ears, and gave her the dog treat.

As she devoured it, he let himself into the basement, closing the door behind him,
shutting Spookie out, just like he’d been doing for two years.

As he began his scan of Willow’s shop, he picked up a low-level signal from something
electronic. It wasn’t a bug. He followed it to its source.

What the hell?

His blood ran cold. A remote-control phone jammer positioned to cover both the house
and the shop. In Jack’s opinion, there were only two reasons to jam service—to shut
up inconsiderate jerks who talked too loudly in public places and to prevent someone
from calling for help. Since Willow’s home wasn’t a public place …

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Willow came home from her day at the festival physically exhausted but emotionally
jazzed. They’d sold every piece of candy, every caramel apple, and every last jar
of caramel sauce. Thank goodness.

She’d given Shiloh Sunday off. Even if Willow stayed up all night, she’d never be
able to produce enough candy and caramel to stock her booth for Sunday’s crowd. Anyway,
she had more important work to do—snooping on Con.

Spookie looked up at Willow from her place on her favorite doggie pillow in front
of the fireplace.

“Hey, Spook! Hey, come here, girl!”

Spookie lifted her head, looked at Willow, and put her head back down, curling up.

Willow frowned. Why was Spookie tired and listless? She didn’t seem sick, just worn
out, as if she’d played too hard. By herself? Not likely. Willow hoped she didn’t
have to make a late night run to the vet with her.

She went to the kitchen and got Spookie’s dinner. But even when Willow rattled the
bowl, Spookie didn’t come. Willow picked up the bowl and took it to the living room.

“Okay, princess. Here you go.”

To Willow’s relief, Spookie stood up and ate. But she still looked plain old pooped
out.

“What have you been up to while I was gone?”

Spookie cocked her head and barked.

“Yeah, now if only I were Dr. Dolittle I might understand that.”

And yet Willow knew how Spookie felt. Willow was almost too excited and tired to eat,
too.

She popped a microwavable meal in. When it was done, she grabbed a fork and carried
her dinner toward her office. It was probably her imagination, but she could swear
she smelled the faint remnants of high-quality cologne in the air. Things seemed just
slightly off. Nothing she could put a finger on. Just …

Hadn’t that pillow been in a different place? Why was the rug slightly skewed? Tiny,
lightweight Spookie had never moved it before.

Someone had been here; Willow was almost certain of it. Someone like Jack. Or the
Agency? Or someone the Agency had warned her about?

She was probably just being paranoid. Or overly optimistic, hoping Con was Jack and
he’d been in to check up on her. She turned on every light to ward off the sense of
creepiness.

When she inhaled deeply, she could still smell that ghost of cologne. Con’s cologne?
She’d shaken a lot of hands today. Met a lot of people. Hugged too many friends and
acquaintances to count. It was possible someone’s cologne had rubbed off on her and
that’s what she smelled now. Still …

She couldn’t get the hair on the back of her neck to lie down properly. Again. Was
there a product on the market she could buy to tame it?

In her office, the light on her Internet box was lit. Her new modem was working. Just
for kicks, she tried her cell phone. It worked now, too.

If Con was Jack and he’d been here, what had he been looking for? Would he be watching
every move she made? If so, he’d know exactly what she was up to. And if someone else
had been here?

She had to get out of the house and think.

She grabbed her laptop, her purse, and her keys. She’d been too tired last night,
but tonight she’d go find an all-night café with Wi-Fi. Or even park in one of the
orchards and use her smartphone or see if she could piggyback on one of her neighbors’
Wi-Fi connections. She’d find out what she could about Con and see what she could
find out about getting an exterminator out to the house—the kind who killed electronic
bugs and surveillance.

Get too cocky, Jack, and you’re going to tip your hand.

At least she hoped this was Jack’s handiwork. That would be joyous news. And the alternative
was just too frightening.

*   *   *

Jack hid in the woods, surveying the parking lot of Beck’s Tavern. Word on the street
hadn’t let him down. Small-town small talk had told him everything he needed to know
about Kennett’s habits. The Rooster liked to drink, always had, which played into
Jack’s hands nicely.

Kennett had been in Beck’s about half an hour. He’d parked his truck at the middle
of the lot near the building where light streamed out from the bar windows onto it.
No doubt Kennett wanted it where he could keep an eye on it, suspicious bastard.

Jack grinned. With his night-vision binoculars trained on the window, he had a clear
view of Kennett as he downed beer after beer.

Jack’s trigger finger itched. He ignored it as he waited for Kennett to leave his
perch by the window. Sooner or later the son of a bitch would have to take a piss.

And then Jack would spring into action. In the meantime, he was cold, even dressed
in his warm camouflage jacket. And a raccoon was making eyes at him. Not exactly the
date he envisioned for a Saturday night.

As if Jack had willed it, Kennett got up. Jack became immediately alert as he watched
Kennett walk away from the window toward the interior of the building. Jack grabbed
his duct tape and moved to the edge of the parking lot.

When the lot was clear of onlookers, he slunk through the shadows and crouched in
the dark in front of Kennett’s truck. Jack ripped off a half-inch piece of reflective
silver duct tape and placed it on the front bumper directly below the center of the
steering wheel. He did the same in line with it above the windshield.

Two pieces of duct tape mark the spot.

It was a daring plan but ingenious.

Just as a drunk stumbled out of the bar door, Jack slid back into the shadows of the
forest. He ran through the woods to a back road off the highway where he’d left his
car. He tossed the duct tape in and poured himself a cup of coffee from the thermos
he’d brought.

There was really no hurry. If Kennett followed his regular pattern, he’d be in Beck’s
for another hour at least, maybe more. Didn’t the seasoned assassin know that routine
killed?

It made Jack’s job way too easy. Maybe Kennett thought no one noticed or cared what
a local apple grower did. Maybe he was just trying to fit in. Jack didn’t waste too
much mental energy trying to figure Kennett out. He didn’t really give a damn.

He fired up his engine and put the car in drive. Time to get into position. Better
an hour early than a minute late. His dad had drilled that into him with plenty of
punishment for incentive.

Jack hated to admit it, but the old man had been right on this point.

Jack refused to take any chances and blow this kill. He had to get out of Orchard
Bluff before things became more complicated than they already were. He didn’t know
how much longer he could fool Willow. Or keep her at bay.

Fifteen minutes later, he parked out of sight in an orchard, facing the road Kennett
would be coming down as he headed home. Jack had found a perfect place to attack Kennett—a
bend in the road lined with trees on either side. A tough little curve to negotiate
sober, when there was no frost on the road and the puddles weren’t frozen.

Jack turned his car to face it, aiming his headlights in the direction Kennett would
be coming from. He’d blind the bastard and be able to see his reflective tape so he
could take aim.

A five-gallon gas can stood on the passenger floor beside him. All the better to burn
Kennett to a crisp with. A sniper’s rifle equipped with a night-vision scope rested
on the passenger seat. Jack wasn’t heartless. He’d kill Kennett before he torched
him. Not that he deserved mercy.

After sweeping Willow’s house of the Rooster’s bugs and jamming the phone jammer the
Rooster had installed at her place, Jack was still seething. He tried not to think
about the Rooster watching Willow’s every move since he’d come to town, listening
in on her conversations and calls, tracking her movements, installing a jammer.

This was Jack’s fault. Even though he was dead, he’d put her in danger. And he’d be
damned it he’d let the Rooster near her again. He was going to end this.

At just past midnight, Jack turned on his headlights, grabbed his rifle, and got out
of the car. His unwitting informants in town said Kennett always left the bar at midnight.
Superstitious bastard. Didn’t like to be out past the witching hour?

Jack lay on the ground in front of the car and trained his scope on the bend in the
road.

Any minute now, Rooster. I’m waiting for you.

*   *   *

Willow left the Bluff Country Store parking lot a few minutes after midnight. Their
empty lot had been a good place to camp out and borrow their Wi-Fi.

What had she found out about Con? Too little and too much.

Con Russo was a man with many friends, many talents, a boatload of relatives, and
a thorough social network presence. From all appearances, he was an outgoing connector
personality. Willow didn’t personally recognize a single one of his Facebook friends,
Twitter followers, or LinkedIn connections. But he shared quite a few with Aldo. Those
must be relatives. Very legit seeming.

She still didn’t buy it. But maybe that was just her blind optimism talking. Or maybe
her blatant cynicism.

Con was a man with a past—a well-detailed one. College pals. Old girlfriends. Girls
who could be new girlfriends.

Willow frowned.
Ugh! Girlfriends.
She felt her temperature rise.

If Con was Jack and pretending to be dead and taking advantage of his single status
as Con to go out fooling around, he was in some deep doo-doo. Deep, deep poo.

In his defense, Con’s online status was
Single, not in a relationship.
But since when did anyone tell the absolute truth online?

The thought of Jack, or Con, with someone else made her horribly, wickedly, intensely
jealous.

Inhale. Breathe deeply. Purge all violent thoughts.

Being antiviolent was becoming harder and harder since Con showed up. Con, who from
all online appearances was the complete and total opposite of Jack, who liked to keep
a low profile.

Willow frowned. She’d spent half the night Googling the man, only to come up with
a big fat regular life? What a waste of time.

The Agency was good. And no doubt Jack, if Con was Jack, had committed this fiction
to memory. He’d always had a top-notch memory. Though it was still possible she could
trip him up.

She wished she were as gregarious online as Con. Her caramel shop could use someone
with his online sensibilities. Maybe she could get him to tweet an endorsement?

She decided to follow Con’s online presence to keep tabs on him. She sent Con a friend
request on Facebook. He could deny her, but if he was Jack that would be a giveaway,
wouldn’t it? A slap in the face of a friend. If Aldo found out about that, he’d go
Italian ballistic on Con.

That might be worth seeing.

What was she thinking? There was that awful violent streak showing up again.

She got on Twitter and followed Con. Good thing he didn’t have to approve that.
Let’s just see if he keeps up his regular tweeting, shall we?

If Con was Jack, the Agency was probably doing it for him. Willow had her doubts whether
Jack would be able to keep up with so much social interaction.